


Stranger and Stranger

by xilent



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Friendship~!, Gen, I usually don't curse but it fits too well sometimes, Post-Canon, Rated teen for language, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-08 18:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17391866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xilent/pseuds/xilent
Summary: Despite his horrible first run-in with humans, Atreus is determined to befriend one that isn't hungry and trying to kill him.He starts with a kid his age who is hungry but not trying to kill him. A very important distinction as it is the only thing that kept his father from tossing them out of their forest.An exploration of life during Fimbulwinter and all those trying to cope with the cold and the trouble it brings.





	1. Meat and greet

His father’s stories get better. None quite like Atreus of Sparta but no longer as brief as the mother and son crabs. Kratos, with much prompting from Atreus, tells him of the few years before his unnamed countless tragedies. He may wait an eternity for those.

Kratos trained in combat with his brother. Competed with many Spartan children. Obeyed his parents strictly when they were around. Showed his strength in a few fights when they weren’t.

It was reassuring to know his father wasn’t always as disciplined.

Atreus listens close. Paying more attention to each of his father’s words than the world around him, trying to garner more hints from his tone and expression about his past. Kratos speaks of a land so unlike his own. Warm, bustling, with settlements in every corner. He often tries to imagine what it would look like to live in his father’s old home.

He dreams of it.  
Like many of his dreams, they are vivid yet strange.

Warmest of weather where they wear light cloths?  
He sees a vast simmering land of sand and sun. Structures that reached towards the sky, multiple triangles in their shape. Catlike eyes on dark skin with curly cloudlike hair.

Markets full of people and trade?  
He sees colorful tents and arching bridges filled with people in patterned robes. Silken black hair tied up with pins and ribbon. So many vibrant blooming trees and long flexible stalks of a plant he had no name for.

None of the people he dreams of look anything like his father.

Still, he gets lost in those dreams. Imagination running wild with fake conversations in languages he doesn’t know. How wonderful would it be to live surrounded by people and not the snowy isolated Midgard he’s in now. It may have been as lively as Sparta was but that was a time before he was born. Even then, he hardly had enough time to explore Midgard after spending most of his childhood racked with sickness. Now, it was a land growing colder with the winter to end all winters.

He sleeps with the wish to meet someone new.

———

The days of fimbulwinter brought little change in their routine. Atreus and Kratos continued their journey living off the now snowy land of Midgard. Occasionally, they would assist the dwarves with gathering obscure materials and items in hidden caves and holds, but there were no threat nor challenge that the father and son could not overcome.  
Except, perhaps, their differing opinions when dealing with the mortals in this realm.

Atreus, despite his horrible first run-in with humans, believes there’s something to gain from interacting with them. There’s got to be some good ones out there. Somewhere, surviving in this near frozen violent land.

“There can’t just be one reaver clan out here.” Atreus follows tracks in the snow. Kratos has let his son take the lead for these hunts. His smaller form can easily hide from the view of their target and Kratos can watch their backs for any draugr.  
“Unless they ate the others.”  
“Ew.” Atreus laughs at his father’s unintentional dark humor. They’ve had this conversation time and time again. Neither side gaining any grounds with the other. “But what I mean is they can’t survive on their own.”  
“Correct.”  
“So they have to work in groups often and keep each other alive soo they have to have families too!” Atreus remarks.  
“He’s not wrong.” Mimir pipes in. “Reavers don’t grow on trees. They too have to settle down, build a home, and have a family to pass on their ways of ruthless survival.”  
“See! Mimir agrees. I… think.” Atreus gets closer to his father, trying to see if his face shows signs of consideration. “And, with their families-We could help them.”  
“They tried to kill you, boy.”  
“We already-well-you already dealt with those. They can’t all be like that. Besides, they were just hungry. Like the wolves.”  
“Like they are now.”  
“They don’t have to be. We never go hungry.”  
“We know how to hunt and only have ourselves to feed.”  
“But maybe we could-  
“No.” Kratos does not want to go looking for the trouble mortals are sure to bring.

“It’s our fault fimbulwinter here. They weren’t expecting this for another hundred summers. We-“ Atreus pauses, hearing the rustling of branches from their target, elk. He notches an arrow but continues in a hush. “We shouldn’t let others suffer for what we started.”  
Kratos watches his son stalk after the animal. _‘They’ll be better.’_ The boy took that lesson to heart. Kratos sighs as he trudges after him, joining his son as the boy takes aim at the elk. He no longer has to guide him, having an entire journey’s worth of faith and trust in Atreus’s growing skill. The boy has already lined up a clean shot to its neck, despite the branches and fallen trees he used as cover.

th-thwack!

The elk stumbles and falls moments after it’s struck.  
Atreus shares a grin with his father which the Greek god returns, albeit subtly. The boy vaults over a log and rushes over to finish the animal and collect their dinner. He’s two paces away when he notices there are two arrows buried in the elk’s neck. His red feathered one, and a yellow. He’s slow to turn. The owner of that other arrow had run up too.

Right next to him.

He had no time for greetings and no time to properly look. Dodging the left hook from the small stranger-since they killed the stranger-Atreus knocks them back with his bow. They kick something under him and he slips as he tries to move forward. Both tumble to their sides sending up small snow clouds.

The small stranger gets up first, fixing their heavy hood to hide their face, their growling mouth still visible. “You don’t need this.” They draw their knife. Atreus draws his in defense, eyes blinking in surprise to see them use it to put the animal out of its misery rather than to attack. Their tone, however, is still as aggressive. “Shoot down a grouse or two. Not an elk big enough to feed a grown-“ A looming shadow divides the space between the two. “-oh shit.”

Kratos is intimidating to anyone without an advantage in numbers, and maybe even with that. The small stranger’s stature does them no favors when standing up to this beast of a man. His leviathan axe is already in his grip, prepared for an ambush that did not come. They take a step back. The snow yielding to their soft footsteps.

They all stay like that for a moment. All three staring at each other, waiting for the other’s next move to guide their own. The small stranger slowly reaches down to grab a rope. They drag the shaped board that tripped the boy—brought for dragging the animal, Atreus discerns—with it and backs away from the two, not averting their gaze until they were back among the trees.

They had already taken off running when Atreus recovers, “That-that was another kid! From those reaver families Mimir talked about.”

“Strange." Mimir muttered. "I thought reavers always worked in packs. Wonder what that little one was doing all on their own.”

Atreus dusts himself of snow. He goes to retrieve his arrow, eyes lingering on the yellow fletching of the other arrow, taking it as well.

“It is not our concern.” Kratos lifts the elk onto his shoulder. “Come. Let us return home.”

Atreus nods, giving one last glance at the disturbed snow trail leading away before following his father.

———

“Do you think they have a village?” Atreus brings up the subject again.

Kratos grunts as he cleeves a log in twain. He tosses them aside for Atreus to add to the fire the pieces of elk were cooking in. Atreus tends to those meats, some cooking, some smoking. He continues, “I mean, they have to sleep somewhere right? Like that ship we found. Maybe we could trade with them. Food for treasure.”

“Why do you wish to see them,” Kratos asks, not buying trade as his reason. The boy was practical, but not so with people.  
“They were a kid too and-  
“Not just them. Other people. Reavers.”  
“It’s just, I dunno, kinda lonely. I know I have you and Mimir, Brok and Sindri too, but you’re all… old—“ A grumble, “-er than me.” He adds, with a sheepish grin. “I’m just hoping there’ll be kids like me.” Atreus stokes the fire. He hums. To grow up with others your age.  
“They won’t be like you.” Kratos buries his axe into the stump he was cutting on. “We are gods. They are mortals. We survive on our own. They cannot.”  
“That other kid was.”  
“You do not know that.”  
“They were planning on using this whole elk. They even had a sled for it.” Atreus examines the foreign yellow arrow, food already cooked. “And they didn’t really attack me either.”  
“That is not true.”  
“Well not to kill anyway. Just to get me away from their food.” His fingers ran along the arrow’s fletching. “Maybe we could have talked it out.” He lets out a tired breath. “Just because we can survive alone doesn’t mean I want to.” He looks longingly past the trees. His mind drifts from imagining reaver families to his father’s previous one. If only his father was not of few words. After Jotunheim, he hoped this would be easier. Asking questions, getting honest answers. He doesn’t want to hurt his father, but his thirst for knowledge and truth prompts his question. “What… what happened to your family, father?” He doesn’t miss the way his father’s face falls. Eyes looking past him as if the past was there. Atreus can reasonably guess the worst. Dead or forced to be left behind. He hopes for a bittersweet answer at least, when Kratos takes a breath.

“My family… is burning our food.”

Confusion replaces his longing. It takes the slight smell of charcoal to jog his brain. Atreus scrambles from his spot, hurrying to remove the meats from the spot around the fire. Mimir chuckles and he swears he could hear the faintest of laughter from his father as well. His words reassure him. Sure he avoided the question but he wasn’t angry just… in need of time. He could give him that.

“Enough.” Kratos pushes a slab to him, joining the boy and the head next to their outdoor fire. “Eat.”

They eat their dinner in the cool winter air. Mimir tries to open a conversation or share a story but it’s muffled out by both gods’ inability to speak with their mouths full of elk. The quiet is comfortable, calming even, to finish their meal to. It’s only when they are kicking snow to douse the fire that it is broken.

“You may,” Kratos speaks slow, emphasizing his next word. “- try to talk to them if we see them again. If they attack, we will as well.”  
Atreus beams. “Yes father.”

———

If Kratos knew how soon they would have run into the child, he wouldn’t have agreed to let the boy talk to them. Because the only thing he wanted to do to the thief holding his weapon in their house was to throw them out. And with his strength, they would be thrown to the desolate land of Greece.

No, Atreus is holding him to his word.  
All the Spartan god of war could do was glare at the hooded child in the corner as his son tries coaxing them to lower the axe.

He has to hand it to them. This kid was sneaky. Somehow they were able to double back and follow them to their home without either god realizing it. Waiting until they were sure they were asleep before creeping in through their door without a sound. If it wasn’t for Mimir, they might not have noticed but strangely, Kratos wasn’t concerned by that.

They had brought their bow and knife but that was not the weapon they were pointing at them. It was his axe, too big for them to properly wield it but they were holding it well. A weapon of convenience from when they were startled by the disembodied head and the waking residents. He’s sure they only grabbed it so Kratos couldn’t immediately cut them down, not knowing he could easily recall it to his grasp.

The stolen goods were only a bag of the smoked meats. Small enough that either might not have known it was missing until they actively counted.

No. This reaver child was smart. Practical in their goal, only caught off guard by something no one would expect. A magical talking severed head. One that was rightfully silent as the boy approached the child.

“We’re not going to hurt you.” Atreus has his hands up, palms out. The boy and this child were around the same height. One of them is bound to be taller but it was hard to tell when the later was hunched over in a ready position. “You’re just hungry, right? You can have that meat. We don’t mind.” Kratos huffs. “Let’s just talk okay?”

The lower half of the small stranger’s face showed their confliction. They mashed their lips, finally asking, “Why do you have a severed head in your house?”

Atreus chuckles. “That’s a long story. Short answer, he was trapped and we freed him. Sorta. He watches our back and knows a lot. Okay, now let me ask you a question. What’s your name?”

“…Mimir.”

The head laughs. The small stranger flinches at the sudden noise. “HA! You’re gonna have to do better than that if you’re gonna lie. Though I appreciate the compliment. It is a dashing name isn’t it? Oh! I got it! How about we call you Mimi instead?”  
“I’d rather die.”  
“That can be arranged.”  
“Father!”

Atreus stands further between them, trying to break the cold stares they were giving each other. He reminds him of his unofficial promise.

An uncomfortable pause settles before they answer again. “Signe.”  
“As in the goddess Sigyn?” Mimir questions.  
“If I was a goddess do you think I would be robbing you three?”  
“Fair point. But is that your real name? Or another lie?”  
“It’s a name we can call them.” Atreus smiles at them. “I’m Atreus. This is Mimir-  
“Hello lad.”  
“-And this is my father.”  
Kratos grunts.  
“um. Now that we’re all introduced, we can all lower our weapons, right?” Atreus looks at Signe expectantly. The lot hasn’t done anything hostile other than send glares. Slowly, the axe is lowered. They give it one last thought before holding it out to Atreus.

Kratos recalls the axe before his son could take it, further establishing how outmatched this small stranger was at the time.

He lowers it after meeting his son’s stare.

Atreus clears his throat. “It’s nice to meet you, Signe.”

Signe’s eyes flit between him, his father, and the still very strange head. “Wish I could say the same.”

The rest is lost to him. His son moves about their house, suddenly aware if how unkempt it is. Mimir goes on about their quality choice in name. It looks like Signe wants to leave, their eyes looking towards their heavy wooden door every time Atreus looks elsewhere. This small stranger stood out in their small home. Their shoes clashed against the dark wood in an unexplainable way. Their posture, the air around them. It was all intruding.

Unwelcome.

———

They’re sitting around the fire. Both parties unable to sleep with such an uncomfortable air between them. Atreus, after having some one-sided friendly conversation, has finally gotten Signe to open up and is currently satiating his curiosity with whatever short answers Signe gives him. His father sat opposite to them, amber eyes glinting with the fire’s light, daring them to betray their hospitality.

“So you live near the mountain?” Atreus scooches closer. Signe scooches away.  
“Yes.” They nod, munching on their stolen meat.  
“That’s kinda far from where we saw you.”  
“Not if you take the slope down.”  
“But that’s so slippery.”  
“It is.”  
“Do you take your sled down?”  
“Sometimes.”  
“Is it fun?”  
“…I suppose.”  
“I tried making a sled before but the wood kept splitting.”  
“That’s too bad.”  
“Your sled looked nice though.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Were you going to use it to pull the elk?”  
“Yes. Until you two came along.” A glare at Kratos. They get one back.  
“Uhhh-so you’re good with a bow right?” Atreus pushes himself between their glares. With the break in eye contact, Signe returns to their meat.  
“Hm.” They nod again.  
“Who taught you?”  
“... My father.”  
Atreus has a look of triumph missing how Signe recedes into themself. They DO have a family. “Really? Were you going to bring that elk back to eat with him?”  
“No.”  
“What? Why not?”  
“My father’s dead.”

They can practically feel the sudden silence.

“O-oh...” Atreus starts softly. “What happened?”  
“He was betrayed by his crew after returning without their captain.” They look almost angry. “Took about four of them out before they pinned him to a post but,” The grit their teeth. "-still wouldn't have made it."  
Atreus gulps. That sounds familiar. The image of a body impaled by five swords flashes to his mind. The face smashed in from the whetstone they were sent to find.  
The severed head whispers to Kratos, “Uh oh. I think we know who their father was.”  
Signe takes another bite of their meat.

Atreus clears his throat. “At least you have your crew.”  
“I don’t.” They huffed. “After they killed him no one wanted us around. Awkward having the woman and child you widowed watch your back. Eventually, the clan decided they had enough of the line of betrayal from my family and threw us out. Not killing my mother and I was a mercy on behalf of my beloved grandfather.”  
“That’s kinda weird since they both stabbed their father’s in the back.”  
Signe stiffens. They turn to him. “How do you know that?”  
“I don’t.” He says too quickly. “Just that-you said 'line of betrayal' so I’m guessing they did something like that. It’s a saying too.”  
Signe watches him. A tense moment passes by, only broken when they take a bite from their food.  
Atreus tries to rectify the conversation. “You have your mother then?”  
“She’s dead too.”  
“wh-But I thought they didn’t-  
“They didn’t kill her. But when we found a new clan, open to taking in more working hands a group of us were attacked. Hel-walkers did her in as well as everyone else with us then.”

Silence.

This is not going well.

———

“I don’t know why you’re still up, brother.” Mimir speaks from his post near their beds.

Kratos is sitting on the edge of his bed, the fire no longer providing light with its dying embers. Still, he could still see with the small light seeping through the cracks in the roof, the sleeping forms of Atreus and Signe. They had dozed off backs against Atreus’ bed frame. Mimir decided to save them from the uncomfortable silence brought by the orphaned story and tell the tale of Sigyn, the goddess Signe named themself after.

There wasn’t much known for sure about this Aesir goddess but that gave room for the many rumors about her role in Asgard. Was she a goddess of fidelity gifted with strong endurance? A strategist known for her duplication magic? There were many tales far and between but all served to lull the children to sleep.

Mimir’s mouth felt a little dry but still had enough in him to quietly pester Kratos during this night watch. “I don’t think they’re going to do anything now. Not while I’m watching. No need for you to be this careful.”  
“They invaded my home.”  
“But brought no trouble after that. An awkward dinner conversation sure but no trouble."  
“It is still early.” He knows how ambitions show themselves over time.

“They listened to your son. Which is more than you can say on some occasions.”  
A growl.  
“I said in some. And I do understand your caution. I really do. But this isn’t one of those cannibal reavers your boy talks about. They are just a child.”  
“Parents pass down their practices and traditions. Cruelty can be one of them.”  
“Dangerously close to quoting Freya there.”

A beat.

“They don’t have parents anymore. Not an uncommon thing I’m sad to say but perhaps one that works in our favor. We have a chance to make both their lives better.” Mimir sighs. “Your boy has a potential friend, brother. Don’t scare them away.”


	2. Changing Impressions

Signe wakes up with a start. The borrowed fur pelt they used as a blanket slips off them. A short shiver rolls through but they keep themself quiet.

They wait a moment, calming themself with a hand pulling their hood taut.

Their eyes strain to get a quick look around the darkened home. Atreus is slumped over next to them. He’s mumbling something soft but it’s either another language or pure nonsense. They can make out the outline of the man Atreus called father propped up against the bedpost. He is still facing them but it was hard for them to tell if he was awake. No sign of that talking severed head but they’ll be sure to avoid any shelves or tables he may be resting on.  
Already made that mistake when searching for other items of interest.

It was time to go.

Signe starts to gather their things. The smoked meats. Bow and quiver. They have just stepped away from the bed when Atreus stirs.

“Mn…”  
They freeze.  
Atreus swats at the air, head lulled to the side. “Ugh.. Why do Reavers... stink..”  
They stifle their laugh.  
He must be having a dream. A pretty accurate one but it’s not hard to guess that years of scavenging from graves and strongholds would work up a community stench. Maybe they should be offended but Signe could only think about the smelly toothy folk back home that better fit the picture.

…

They linger.

Signe didn’t expect this day to turn out like this. Meeting another kid surviving in the woods. A bulky tattooed man with a magic axe. A bloody talking head. ….gifts and warmth for sneaking into their home.

A frown grows on their face.

They can’t imagine why Atreus was trying so hard to gain their trust. He only had things to lose and was a fool to think some talking and food could win anyone over. And they aren’t winning them over. They aren’t. But if the animated head was anything to judge by, they might be what they’re looking for.

Signe turns to Atreus. Their hand reaches out to him, not noticing the tightening grip Kratos has on his axe.

They hover like that for a few seconds then nudge him awake.

“Hm?” Atreus rubs his eyes. It was still ungodly early.  
“I’m leaving.”  
“Oh.” The disappointment snaps him awake.  
Signe turns away.  
“Wait.” He pats the spaces beside him, going through his quiver when he finds where he left it. “Here. It’s your arrow.”  
Signe takes it, fingers run down its ends. “I don’t stitch my arrows this way.”  
“What? Hold on.” He tries to find the right arrow in his quiver but can’t see anything, let alone color, well in this dark.

After a moment of searching and thinking, Signe clicks their tongue. “Keep it.” They shove off the frame.  
“I-I’ll give it to you later!-” The spirit in his voice still present in his whisper.  
Signe only gives him a glance as they squeeze past the door. The frigid air bites at their face. Releasing a clouded breath, they head towards what they considered home.

———

Atreus tries to get back to his dream. He saw people. Reavers in greys and browns. Men, women, children, very few past their prime. The families he wanted to see but-

Strangely, he’s not interested in that.

He rolls in his bed trying to bring back a later image. A hideaway in a mountains side. Through a fissure in the rocks obscured by… something. Inside showed signs of living. Bowls and jars on a table. Baskets and bags next to two beds. There was bright green growing against the dark rocks further in.

Growing in the winter?

He wanted to see how. It was hard to see or hear but he could _feel_ something. Something else was there.

“It is morning.”

  
Atreus grumbles. Turning over in his bed and blanket. Trying to grasp just a little more of his vision. A staff leaning against the wall. Beads and trinkets litter the ground.  
“Enough sleeping boy.” His father’s voice cut through the clouded dream. His attempts ruined.

Atreus sighs. “I’m up.” The images already fading from memory.

———

The ‘later’ Atreus talked about, ended up being two weeks. Atreus and Kratos are exiting a cavern they had explored and cleared out. The boy going on about the hvönn herb he found inside. He’s returning home with a pouch full, remarking how he could make a healing salve with a few more things. Something his father bothers learning as Atreus explains the process.

A bird’s distressed screech calls their attention to the sky.

They watch the bird fall into some nearby trees. Father and son go to investigate, seeing a familiar hooded figure climbing the tree to retrieve their game.

Atreus’ face instantly brightens. He holds a finger to his lips, shushing his father and begins to climb the tree after them. He’s a little slower, trying to match Signe’s pace so they don’t notice the extra rustle of branches. He catches up to them on the opposite side as Signe pauses to pluck their arrow from the bird and stuff it into their bag.

Atreys springs into view from the side.  
“Hi Signe-  
“AUGH!”  
“AHHH!”

Both slip back from their perch on the tree falling clear of the larger branches, breaking through the smaller ones. Kratos steps up tracking both of their falls.

He catches his son safely in his arms but-

_WHMPH!_

Signe lands into a snowy brush kicking up a heavy snow cloud.  
“You could have caught them too you know.” Mimir blows and spits at the snow that landed on his face and mouth.  
“Yes. Yes I could.”  
“Fuck you too sir.” Signe groans from within the bush.

A warning growl.

“Sorry for scaring you.” Atreus rubs his head sheepishly. Kratos puts him down.  
“Are you okay, child?” Mimir cranes his head best he can.  
“Which child are you talking to?” Signe starts to get up clearly irritable. “The one who was caught by a bush or a bastard.” They spat.  
“Do not test my patience.” Kratos takes a step towards them, stopping before Atreus’ hands that were ready to push him back. He glowers at Signe cowering slightly in the brush, then down at his son. “They are taking advantage of your kindness.” And walks to a clearing.

Atreus sighs.

There were no signature fires of rage emitting from him so he’s not worried he’ll attack them. Not like he would need that to take on a mortal. He offers Signe a hand, pulling them up. “Did you have to call him that?”  
“He let me drop from the top of a tree!”  
“It’s not that high.” Says the boy who fell from a giant’s hammer and a world serpent.  
Signe gives him an angry eye. “When we see a cliff remind me to push you off it.”  
“That’s mean.”  
“I’m feeling mean right now. After landing flat on my back-” They stretch hearing a pop from their spine. “-From who knows how high. On a very prickly sharp winter worn bush-ow!” They turn their shoulder, blood was showing through a tear in their clothes. A particularly rough landing on a badly angled branch cut a sizeable gash.  
“You’re hurt.” Atreus gets closer. The wound isn’t deep but it’s a wound he’s at fault for.  
“That I am.” Signe frowns. “I’ll have to deal with it later though. I still have to catch more food before I run out of light.”  
“It’s your drawing shoulder. Can you still make your shots?”  
Signe notches an arrow. They wince as they pull back further but the arrow flies into their mark.  
“It’ll hurt but yes.”  
“I still feel bad.”  
“You should. This was your fault.”  
His shoulders sink.  
"Not that bad." Signe rolls their eyes. "Compared to other wounds, this is just a scratch. It’ll heal with time and a healing-

“Healing salve!" Atreus bounds up at the idea. "I can make you one. I have one of the ingredients already. And chervil grows in my mother’s garden. We can get the last one while we’re hunting together. I- That is if you…”  
Signe is quiet.  
“Do you,” Atreus stretches the last word. “Want to go hunting together?”

———

No one but Atreus looks happy about this situation. Kratos rarely smiles so perhaps this isn’t a fair comparison. And Signe did say yes so they can’t complain now.

Signe can hear Kratos grumbling behind them-  
“I should have caught them.”  
“Yes. Maybe you should have.”  
-and takes some pride in displeasing him just by tagging along.

Atreus had tried to suppress his abilities at first. He would shout ‘Nista’ and fire normal arrows at enemies. However, after some pressure from hel-walkers, he worked on impulse and shot an arrow of light into its throat.

Oh how he froze at his mistake. Choking the end of his instinctual shout of ‘Ljösta’.

His father reprimanded him for stopping in battle and called him to attention as more enemies drew near them. Signe knew Atreus was sneaking glances at them as he switched back, to see if they were startled at all at his use of magic.

They ignored it.

Signe had already seen what they could do the first day they found them.

The man could carry an elk like it was simply a branch, and still fight fiercely with his free hand without the axe. The boy could hold his own as well, taking out draugr with lightning and summoned animals. Signe had a taste of their abnormality even from the safe distance they had followed them. So they weren’t too surprised at their show of supernatural abilities.

It was still alarming though. Just when they thought they’ve seen it all, Kratos pulls out two fire spitting chained blades and proceeded to absolutely decimate the remaining hel-walkers, clearly having enough of holding back.

Atreus’s hands go to his head. “Father!” He’s frantically looking between Signe and his father whose battle style show his thoughts. ‘To Hel with this.’

They steel their reaction, drawing their non-magical unenchanted sword and gutting the draugr next to them.

Signe fit in awkwardly in this father son duo, but they’re not at burden.  
They steer clear of their attacks and avoids trouble so they’re never in need of rescue. However, they don’t know what to do other than look out for themself and steer clear of Kratos’s flailing flaming blades, which turns itself into a challenge.

It doesn’t look like Kratos was trying to hit them but he didn’t mind letting the searing blades get close enough for them to feel the raw power emanating from it. Or perhaps get a haircut if they weren’t wearing their hood.

Eventually, and maybe forcefully, Signe found a suitable pace. Shoot a few arrows with their hurting arm at enemies ganging up on Kratos, distract them and deal damage with their sword while he disposed them a handful at a time. It wasn’t seamless teamwork but it wasn’t a frustrating escort mission at least.

———

The group returned home with the leeks and more food. Signe and Atreus shot down two goats together which Kratos starts preparing outside but not before placing Mimir in the house to keep a closer eye for him. Atreus doesn’t mind the chaperon and grinds the healing salve in the mortar, trying to get the right consistency to use on the wound.

“I see why you two live alone.” Signe pulls at their sleeve, gritting their teeth when their wound aches.  
“And what am I? Chopped liver?” Mimir chimed from his post.  
Signe ignores him.  
“Yeah, we’ve just been managing on our own out here. I haven’t really met other people.” That weren’t trying to kill him.  
“It shows.” They narrow their eyes at his pleased resting face.

Atreus adds more chervil to the salve.

“You wield magic.”  
“Kinda. It’s just the runes on our weapons really.”  
“You can coat a blade in flames with runes?”  
“Okay so my father has special weapons of his own but my bow just uses spells and runes.” He takes the pestle out, satisfied with the salve, and scooches over to apply it to Signe’s shoulder. They flinch at the cold.  
Signe glances at him from the corners of their eyes. “Do you know of any healing runes or spells? Something strong and powerful?”

Freya.

The image of the Vanir goddess comes to mind. She healed her boar and Atreus when he was ill. Reanimated Mimir and an entire giant too. He feels like her old magic could do anything. But after Baldr… he’s not sure they could count on her anymore.

It takes him a moment to reply. “No. We don’t really know magic. Father has a small healing rune for his axe but it’s not that useful. It would only heal something like your cut and only works if you’re holding the axe.”  
“Which I doubt he’d let me use.” Signe mumbles, shaking their head. “It wouldn’t be enough anyway.”  
Atreus dresses their cut.  
Mimir hums. “He just said it would, child.”  
Signe doesn’t answer.

“I’m done.”  
They crane their neck back and tests their shoulder. The cut was covered in the mossy green salve. The pain is still there but it is slowly waning as the medicine seeps in. “How do you know how to make this?”  
“My mother taught me. She knew and grew a whole lot of herbs but she wrote this one down for me to remember. Sh-she taught me a lot.”  
Their gaze drifts to the larger bed. Recognition of a missing presence clear in Signe’s eyes. They don’t ask and Atreus appreciate that. They share a glance, bonding through their loss. Signe shuffles in place. Expression a little softer. “Thanks.”  
“You’re welcome.”

The walls of this home carry the sound. They can hear the subtle sounds of the wilds. A gentle wind. The creaking of wood. Kratos chopping at the goat. That one wasn’t as subtle but was still as wild.

Atreus can see the shifting in Signe’s mood. He knows surviving the draugr, hel-walkers, the wild, and even other people, hardens your view. He felt it as he traveled with his father and knows how much easier it is to shut out your concern for anything but yourself. Killing is made so much easier… But he hopes that maybe he could get through to Signe. They may have revealed their past with apparent indifference but he knows that people deal with grief in different ways. He tries to appeal to that.

He takes the yellow arrow from his quiver and holds it out to them. “My mother showed me how to hunt too. We made my bow together and she’d make me woven targets so I can practice at home.”  
They hold it, spinning it in their hand.  
“She taught me how to read and-actually- taught me pretty much everything I know now. Well-” Atreus looks to the door where his father could be seen butchering the meat. “Almost everything.”

Signe follows his gaze, looking at the blood covered spartan with much less admiration.

“I didn’t know much about my father. He wasn’t always around and even when he was it was hard to talk with him. I tried so hard to impress him and almost gave up sometimes but I’m glad I didn’t.” Atreus gives them a small toothy smile. “He’s my father and I wouldn’t have gotten to know him if I backed down.”

Signe’s silence unnerves him.

“Sooo uh-if you could give him a chance too, then-  
"What are you getting at?"  
"You should give us a chance. I know we just met but it can be pretty bad out there.” Atreus looks at them with a trying expression. “Please?”  
“You don’t take after him much.” Signe looks over Atreus. “I’ll stick around to see why.” They hand their arrow back. An unspoken ‘keep it til then’ in their gesture.  
Atreus smiles which Signe slowly returns.

A quiet fills the room.

Mimir clears his throat. “Shall we go outside? I believe you still have a bird to pluck and clean Signe. And your sack too.”  
They pull their bag out in front of them. Blood was seeping through the fabric from sitting too long. “Ah shit.”

———

Signe hurries outside. They pull out the dead grouse, spitting curses for every drop of blood dripping from the bag. They’ll have to soak and scrub at this for a while. They can’t risk wulvers smelling and tracking this. Tracking it to them. Tracking it to her. They’ve been careful and lucky thus far. Ruining this streak could have them end up dead.

They rush through the snow, holding the bird and bag at arm's length.  
To the side of their eye was Kratos, still separating the meat from the in-edibles, not even acknowledging their arrival.

Signe’s mouth stretches to a line. They didn’t like him. Knew he didn’t like them either. But now they understood it was for the same reasons. Past experiences. Past losses. All of it good reason not to trust others.  
And for that, with some consideration for the foolishly friendly Atreus, they could say, “Sorry. You’re callous but not a bastard.” Reluctant, but genuine.

The chopping stops.  
For a good three seconds, Signe panics thinking he might turn around and hack at them instead. Going as far as jumping back to a ready position when he did turn. They had a bag drenched in blood in one hand and a dead grouse in another.

~~Perfect for fending off the god of war.~~

Kratos only motions to an open spot in the snow next to the body of the other dead goat.  
Signe is still stiff in their shoes.  
He grunts and points to the spot again.

Did… did he want them to leave their grouse?

Signe approaches slow and lays the bird on the snow.  
Kratos goes back to chopping the goat.  
Out of the corner of their eye, Atreus is in the doorway with a thumbs up. Who it was for was hard to tell.

When they return from the stream, a cleaned and plucked bird waits for them.  
A strange gesture that sticks in Signe’s mind long after they’ve left the wild woods.

———

Kratos doesn’t look at his son when he speaks. It’s often not needed. His few words are clearly directed and there are only two people he speaks to regularly.  
So though he says this often to Mimir, this time it’s aimed at his boy. And his brazen pleased grin. “Stop. That.”  
“What?”  
“Your face.”  
“The boy’s allowed to smile isn’t he?”  
“It will freeze that way.”  
“Speaking from experience are you? Knew wearing a frown that often was unnatural.”  
Kratos grunts, tapping the head on his belt.  
The boy’s smile grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping the mood light X'D I honestly have no idea how Ragnarok will go so I won't write it haha  
> I love this game and know that the limited characters work in its favor for the story  
> buuuut I kinda want to explore their world a little more
> 
> And Kratos is a little softer now! From solid steel to (what's a softer metal?) -Iron? hahahha  
> Point is this is practically the best time to give the two more friends/people not trying to kill them  
> Gotta make up for losing Freya's favor

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing in a long while X'D  
> Could make this chapter a little longer buuut I'm still editing that part haha


End file.
